


Sleepover

by little_murmaider



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Aggressive coloring, Fatherklok Epilogue, Least of all me, M/M, Nobody knows what to do with all these feelings, The person writing this story, awkward confessions, tumblr requests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-05-22
Packaged: 2019-05-10 02:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14727852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_murmaider/pseuds/little_murmaider
Summary: When Skwisgaar comes back from Sweden, he's different.





	Sleepover

When Skwisgaar came back from Sweden, he had changed.   
  
It wasn’t the way he reclaimed his lead guitarist crown, with a swaggering bombast fitting of the world’s foremost egomaniac. Toki most noticed the difference when they were out of the public eye. How much more present he was in conversations with the guys. How he tried to curb his criticisms in the studio. Most obvious was how, instead of skulking off with a groupie or 20 at first opportunity, he spent his free time with Toki. Like,  _ a lot _ of his free time. Like,  _ most _ of his free time.  Rare was the night when they slept in their own beds, too distracted by video games or drinking or playing guitar together or simply each other’s company to bother shambling back to their respective rooms. Not that Toki  _ minded _ the change. It was...nice. But it was definitely an adjustment.   
  
A lazy morning had bled into a lethargic afternoon. Toki laid on his stomach on Skwisgaar’s bed, doodling in the margins of his coloring book, crayons fanned in an uneven crescent before him. Skwisgaar sat beside him, cross-legged, chewing on the edge of his thumbnail. His Dethphone buzzed incessantly, a flood of messages blowing up his screen. Before he quit the band, Skwisgaar never responded to texts with any sense of urgency; sometimes he wouldn’t respond to the Dethklok group chat for weeks. But with each text he jumped with excitement, answered immediately. The shift in behavior bugged Toki, annoyance buzzing at a low, constant frequency in his brain. He eyed the phone with suspicion, his coloring hand dragging in a slow, unfocused loop.  
  
“Who ya beens talking tos?” he asked, hanging his chin on his fist. “Seems importants. If you gots to takes care of its I can leaves--”  
  
“No,” Skwisgaar said, flipping his phone so the screen faced down on the comforter. “Sorries. I’ll stops. I can calls him tomorrow.”  
  
Toki stopped coloring. “Him?"  
  
Skwisgaar looked sheepish, sliding his phone aside until it tumbled to the floor with a  _ thump _ .  
  
“It’s, uh, Tyr.”  
  
“Who?”  
  
“My not-dads. In Sweden.”  
  
Suddenly disinterested, Toki returned to his coloring.   
  
“Ja, we beens talking a lot, actually.” He shuffled his legs out from beneath him. “We gots a lots in common. We, hueghhhh, bofs hates my mom, haaaaaaaaa.”  
  
In the silence that followed, Toki could hear the rumble of blood in his veins, the whistle of air through his nostrils. He said nothing else.   
  
Skwisgaar coughed. “He’s a cool guys.”  
  
“Okays. I don’ts know hims.”  
  
“Smart, toos.”  
  
“I’ll haves to takes your word for its.”   
  
Skwisgaar reorganized himself to lie on his side, parallel to Toki. From the corner of his eye, Toki saw him plant, uproot, and replant his elbow into the mattress. His palm cradled his jaw, the skin at the corners of his mouth taut. This was also new, the occasional stiltedness that arose when they were one-on-one. How he was ill-at-ease if he left too much space between their conversations. What could have happened to him in Sweden to cause this drastic pivot? Toki didn’t think to ask.   
  
“Before I cames back heres,” Skwisgaar said, once comfortable, “we was talking abouts some  _ ehhhhhhhhhh _ pretty deeps stuff.”  
  
“Coooooools.” Toki scribbled aggressively at his book, wearing down the red crayon to a nub. The happy valley was now bisected by a river of blood.   
  
“Stuff likes...how you knows...when you loves someone…”  
  
Toki switched from red to black, maring the friendly woodland creatures on the page with fangs and horns and talons.  
  
“Why woulds you talks about dat? Don’ts seems like somet’ings you woulds care abouts.”  
  
Skwisgaar clenched, sucked in air through his teeth.   
  
“Ahugh, ugh, ahm, uh, ahhh,  _ huuuuueeeeghhhhh _ it just cames up! Cause someone asked  **_anyways_ ** he saids dat, you don’ts knows you loves someones, until you knows.”  
  
Toki wrinkled his nose. “Dat don’ts make no sense.”  
  
“Dat’s what I thoughts, but--”  
  
“How you gonna knows somet’ings you didn’t knows if you never knows it before?”  
  
“Toki, I’m tryings--”  
  
“ _ If you don’ts knows now you knows _ who ams dis guy? Big-him Littles? What does dat even  _ means _ ?”  
  
Toki didn’t know where his deluge of aggrieved rage had come from. Just that there was a lot of it, and it had been in him for a while, and he didn’t know where to put it. He pressed down on the page so hard the crayon snapped in his fingers.   
  
“ _ Toki _ .”  
  
He stilled as he felt fingers comb slowly, deftly through his hair. His murky feelings ebbed. Skwisgaar’s voice was gentle, his touch reticent.   
  
“Dids you t’inks about mes when I was gones?”  
  
The answer to that, of course, was  _ yes _ . Toki didn’t want the answer to be yes. He wanted to drown in validation, spend every moment ensconced in his well-deserved and long-overdue glory. But just when his elation was reaching its peak, a fissure of sadness would crack through, warp his happiness with guilt, longing, until he was stuck with this corrupt, useless thing. The feeling did not abate until Skwisgaar’s return, and Toki did not examine why.  
  
Still, Toki said nothing.  
  
“I thoughts about  _ yous _ ,” Skwisgaar continued. “Whats Tyr saids? I didn’ts gets it. But.”  
  
The ends of Toki’s hair waterfalled through his palm. He tugged, guided Toki’s gaze to meet his. Tension receded from his features like a tide. His smile was soft, hopeful, vulnerable.  
  
“Den I  _ dids _ .”  
  
As soon as it came, his anger abandoned him, and a new feeling rushed through. Warm, comfortable, growing stronger and stronger as he stared at Skwisgaar, drinking in his flushed face and bright eyes and parted lips that drew nearer and nearer to his and--  
  
Tyr was right. You don’t know, until you know. 


End file.
